A Letter for Rob
by rubacuori
Summary: It's nearing the end of a Fourth of July get together at the Watterson's, and Gumball's prepared a letter addressed to his currently MIA nemesis. Quick one-shot.


Rob,

Happy 4th of July, man.

Warning. This could be peculiarly long. Not toooooo long, like you'd joke about it like 'wow, that shit was novel-length.' I mean more long as in something for a text or letter. That's something you should know about me is that I write really fast and I type a lot. Some people are perplexed by it. I dunno. I guess I have a lot to say and I like to sound like I'm actually talking in real life. Isn't it bland and weird if it isn't like that? Sorry if this is a struggle to read, my handwriting is really sloppy.

Anyway! This is aggravating, I'm exasperated by my own conscious stalling. OK. Here we go.

Do you remember when you said you really, really, really hate me? You tried to throttle me, as Banana Joe simply watched on. Yeah. I remember it well. We haven't run into each other in so long. Where have your traps been...? I haven't seen you. Like at all. I'm kind of insulted, I suppose. I mean you tell me you really hate me and you curl your fingers around my throat and toss my smaller body back and forth with severe hate in your eyes and then nothing! I thought I had rekindled a flame but I guess it was like the fireworks Dad got for tonight. Supermarket sparklers, you know? Most of them went out real fast.

I wished you had set up one in my room so maybe I would've jumped and fallen out the window and gotten injured. That'd be something. I also wished you could've been with Darwin and me when we were playing with the stick sparklers in the backyard. Most of mine were duds, but it was still really fun tonight. We went to get donuts and coffee after, on our bikes. So that reminded me of how I tried to get you to cut my brakes that one time. Cut to the chase! I guess I'm prone to rambling. Basically, I was thinking about you tonight. Like. Profusely. Endlessly. Uncontrollably. Incessantly. Anais (my sister) had a lot of ways to describe it. Anais is a French name and it means gracious. French is the language of love. So I asked her what the language of hate was right? And she told me to quiet my voice down, because someone could get offended if we suggested their language. Darwin and I didn't shut up though. We spit random languages at each other and we settled on English, because that's our mothertongue and so if you say something bad that's how it'll really hurt you, plus it's pretty universal, and Americans are really bitter. Anais pinched the nearly nonexistent bridge of her nose and Darwin obliviously started trying to catch a firefly.

So I thought of you obsessively tonight because I am conflicted about you and tonight was so placid, it seems unreal. Tonight was unusual in how relaxed it was. I hate when nothing is happening and everything is happening inside me. Every single possible thing. I'm an "on the go" person and sometimes I get so depressed feeling like no one can keep up or understand. I feel like you would.

You are constantly looking for something, anything, to hold onto. I am like that too. Except I refuse to hold onto anything. My brain works against my heart. Their desires don't mesh.

The food wasn't so great, there wasn't a lot to go around, but I had fun nevertheless. Admittedly, my siblings and I mostly just watched TV and made snide comments while the grownups talked stuff I couldn't understand, whether because of lack of understanding or plain boredom. I was constantly trying to make the most of the afternoon and evening because I was trying to toss the thoughts of you aside. I thought I could get so caught up in something that the image of you would sort of just dwindle til it was nothingness. Something I'd remember some other time and not really bother with.

But some massive feeling arose in my stomach and I realized that I couldn't push this aside no matter how damn hard I tried, no matter how much I talked and tried distracting myself. Grandma and Grandpa Senicourt brought creme brûlée. It was my first time having it, actually. I ate it up like a real pig. Have you ever had creme brûlée, Rob? I doubt it. How do you even eat? Are you like Aladdin, where you have to pull a huge heist to get a loaf of bread? Where do you even stay? Do you sleep in the bus? God, why don't you ever stop by here? You can knock yourself out in the basement, or even in my bedroom, anytime you want. I'm swallowing my pride right now. I'm worried about you. I'm curious about you. I want to know you. Where are you, Rob? Why aren't you at my throat?

I know you hate me. I know you really, really, really hate me. Least, I thought you did. You lost everything and your one chance at getting back home didn't even hear your shouts for help. I'm sorry. But I don't even remember all that you said went down that day. I don't remember retrieving Molly or anything about that other world. I don't. I'm sorry. I get why you hate me and I'm sorry but I can't explain what happened that day, all I know is that it was another one of my infamously careless mistakes.

...Also, Rob, I'm sorry about the whole disfiguration. It's true I don't remember what you looked like before, but I don't believe you looked better than you do now. I like how you look. I think you look kind of charming, in a skinny, quite geeky style, your single bright eye and your lanky stature and all. You're so tall. There's so much of you. It's thrilling.

Your hair is ragged and I don't know, it looks soft as I suppose most hair does but Rob, there's something different about it. Something I can't put my finger on. Or maybe I just don't want to put my finger on it. Maybe it wasn't made by scienctific particles but by some greater mad scientist because there's something about you Rob that makes me excited and Sarah-esque. It makes my legs almost too weak to walk and my heart feel to tender to carry, I just want to throw my heart away, pull it out of my poor chest and beat it to death as a second becomes equivalent to forever. I can't stand the sensation. I recognize it. I felt it purely so long ago, for Penny. Now I've caught these love wasps for you. They are eating me alive because I have nothing to ameliorate this rather common longing. I have no photos to scroll through, no yearbook pages, no old text messages, no nothing! As per usual! I feel distanced from the world. And I think what I'm feeling is very strong, or I've just gotten worse at handling it, which makes sense if you pry at the idea a bit. I'm not a little kid anymore. Everything's developing. I'm fourteen. Everything's harder. Instead of thinking about skipping through a field of wild flowers hand in hand, I think about us doing sixty nine. I hope that doesn't scare you. I hope it doesn't because I really, really like the idea. (Sorry it's all smoky here, I erased soemthing and my eraser is dirty and crumbling.) (ok but basically I impulsively wrote a question that is completely, totally inappropriate and I'm just not doing that ok.) (Ok but I'm feeling frisky and risky so the question is: ...is your package...staticky?)

So snapping back my train of thought!

So there it is. You've undoubtedly got it by now, have you not?

The _hero_ like likes you. You've got the brazen prince at the knees of your evil dragon.

Nearing the conclusion! Before I pass out from all my huffing and puffing, I don't want you to hate me anymore. Blah, blah...I hope you won't after this. Maybe you don't even care anymore. Maybe that's why I haven't seen you around. I trust that Mr. Small will know where to find you and that you'll get this letter. I'm sorry about the blah blah blah. I can talk excessively but not about anything as complicated as this without wincing and showing my discomfort.

Now I know I can't fix my mistakes and perhaps I can't even make up for them. But at least believe me when I say everything I have disclosed in this letter is true. It's all true. The stuff about your manly ways and the feelings. It's not some prank, and I'll be really quashed if you don't answer, Rob. I miss you. I know you've got a temper but there is a gentleness to you that makes me want to burst. I know I'm a nightmare child but all I want to do is smother you in kisses like you won't believe and protect you.

Give me a shot, Rob.

My body is exhausted. My brain is not. One day I will put your mind and body to rest and you will do the identical for me and we will believe, in those shared, never-scarce, moments of bliss that we have never lived apart. I am more than an annoying brat. You should know better than to judge a book by its cover. For I did the same and look where we are today. I never took a second glance, til now. Look at my frantic, nonplussed papercuts.

Yours Whether You Like it or Not,

Gumball

* * *

 **A/N July 5: Wrote this after the party last night.**

 **A/N July 23rd: Would've posted this last night but I got a little distracted. Had this in the oven for a while, just edited it a bit and I've decided it's done baking. I might take a whack at something lighter next time, but it seems impossible for me to keep anything light. Review and favorite if you wanna. I've got a test now, so wish me luck!**

 **xxxxxx**


End file.
